


You're My Satellite

by bananaquit



Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 18:55:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15419418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananaquit/pseuds/bananaquit
Summary: Everything smells like Gene, like his high-end cologne and expensive vodka. Vincent should hate it, but all he feels when he breathes in is affection. “I wish I could dance with you,” he admits.





	You're My Satellite

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ты – мой спутник](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405180) by [Vinsachi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinsachi/pseuds/Vinsachi)



> minor tw for references to gene's suicide attempt i guess?
> 
> title is from the song "satellite" by guster

The night is quiet apart from their breathing as they lay there on Gene’s bed. The room is lit only by moonlight, a dark monochrome of blue-gray. Vincent’s arms are loosely draped over Eugene, whose face is nestled against his neck. Vincent wonders if Gene is asleep and lets out a sigh, knowing he should get some rest, too.

“What’s troubling you now?” Gene asks in a slightly teasing tone. Vincent can feel his smirk against his skin.

Vincent lets out another breath. Everything smells like Gene, like his high-end cologne and expensive vodka. He should hate it, but all he feels when he breathes in is affection. “I wish I could dance with you,” he admits. They’d been at Michael’s Dinner Club earlier that evening and Vincent hadn’t been able to stop glancing over at the couples slowly moving across the dance floor.

Gene’s mouth twitches and Vincent knows without looking that he’s frowning again. Taken aback by the earnestness of Vincent’s words, Gene’s reply is soft and honest. “Sorry.”

Vincent is sure he’s sorry, but not for his sake. He’s not sorry he can’t walk, he’s sorry he’s not _dead_. “If you could still walk, you wouldn’t be here.” He tries to sound lighthearted, but he can’t help a trace of bitterness from creeping into his voice.

There is no gene for fate. Gene had learned that after he’d lost the gold he was supposedly destined to win. Still, he knows things would have come to this even if he’d never stepped in front of that car. “No, no. I’d be just as worthless on my feet as I am now,” Gene whispers. He leans up so his lips brush Vincent’s ear. His smile is sadder this time, but more tender. “The only thing my legs would be good for is dancing with you.”


End file.
